I sent this around at work a while back. I have since found myself trying to describe it to other people who don't work with me, but who often get caught in the comedy crossfire as I trade lines from it with another co-worker. I figured I'd share it here because a) it's really frigging funny; b) I haven't blogged in a while; and c) I want more people to be in on the joke.
So, here you go ... Coming To Alderaan
In which it is revealed that the funniest actor in the movie Coming To America was not Eddie Murphy, nor Arsenio Hall, but James Earl Jones.
Oh and yes, yes, I know -- I owe y'all a Coachella 2008 round up. We'll get there, I promise.
Two Nights, Two Shows, Infinite Happiness
Current mood: energetic
First off, Katie continues to be the best fiance on the planet (surprising no one). When we caught Rufus Wainwight with Sluggo last Tuesday night at the Belly Up in San Diego, she noticed that the New York Dolls were coming around -- and promptly cajoled me into catching them Sunday night at the House of Blues in Anaheim. That’s right -- she cajoled me into going to a New York Dolls show. This was a "grasshopper snatching the pebble from the palm of the master" moment. I’m so proud!
Anyhow, phenomenal show. The Dolls (well, David Johansen and Sylvain Sylvain -- the last 2 surviving original members) are ancientby punk standards, but deserve massive credit for keeping the old guard alive and excelling, rather than embarrassing themselves on stage. Their re-emergence has fared arguably better than the Stooges, who continue to crank out staggeringly great live shows, but whose recent record, The Weirdness, um, sucked. Not so with the Dolls’ Someday It Shall Please Us To Remember Even This, which is actually worth owning.
I can’t find any YouTube footage from the show, so I’ll just link to this classic clip featuring the original lineup (with the late Johnny Thunders and Arthur Kane) and trust that you’ll believe me when I say that Sunday’s show lived up to this very high standard:
I did manage to snap this crappy picture with my Treo at the end of the show:
Second, my apologies to Adam for randomly keeping him out until well past his bedtime on a Monday night. Again. I keep doing that. Every time I go to San Francisco, whether for business or pleasure, there’s some crazy event that I drag him to, and the evening crawls beer besotten into the next morning. He has been officially charged with making sure we get home from these adventures at a reasonable hour from now on.
Anyhow, to my mind, this particular Monday was totally worth it, given that we saw one of the best shows I think I’ve been to in recent memory, featuring 4 bands you should get heavily into right now:
Serendipity (the mystical force, not a person I know) deserves credit for our attendance at this event. Sunday afternoon, while driving home from a brief stop at the office, I happened to catch The Duke Spirit’s "The Step And The Walk" on KCRW’s "The A Track" and found myself immediately hooked. I checked out one of the band’s earlier albums on Rhapsody while working in our SF office the next afternoon, and liked it enough to go digging for some more info on the group. Lo and behold, TDS happened to be playing a show that night at the Rickshaw Stop in downtown San Francisco. Kind of amazing -- The Spirit is a UK band, and this was its one and only Californian appearance before heading off to a South By Southwest showscase and an opening slot on the upcoming Black Rebel Motorcycle Club east coast tour. So, I did what I usually do in cases like this: immediately bought two tickets and called Adam to break the news of another night of peaceful sleep ruined.
Anyhow, the Rickshaw gets high marks for both the sound system (crystal clear, not overwhelmingly loud, good mix) and its bar (SUPER DUPER strong drinks, good beer selection). We even found parking with relative ease.
As for the music: Persephone’s Bees are the new Komeda, with more edge and less Swedish pop sheen; The Duke Spirit are bluesy psych rock with vocals reminiscent of Chan Marshall / Cat Power; The Ting Tings play LCD Soundsystem-esque dance rock, but with female vocals; Hot Tub are an old-skool all girl hip hop trio with electro back ... clearly drawing as much influence from Peaches as from Salt ’n’ Pepa. All 4 were tops. Massive props to Hot Tub for mixing it up with the crowd and dancing with everyone throughout the next 3 sets.
Currently
listening
:
Neptune
By
The Duke Spirit
Release date: 05 February, 2008
As promised in yesterday's blog entry, my old garage band from years back, The Fletchers, now has its own MySpace Music page. Check it out! But be warned .. .this music is EXACTLY what you'd expect from a bunch of 17 - 19-year-olds with a barely functional understanding of how to play guitar, bass and drums (well ... a drum machine).
Mike did a great job of getting 4 of our better recorded efforts posted (including the Snapple commercial that made us all rich and famous) and writing our definitive band bio.
I imagine the coming weeks we'll see some "then and now" pics uploaded. It's really too bad that we didn't have access to all the kickass Apple home editing tools for music and video back then (we were lucky to snag access to a VHS home video camera as big as our heads back in the early '90s) or I'm sure we'd have a more substantial archive of crap to foist on everyone.
Anyhow, enjoy ... and who knows? Maybe this will inspire us to actually write and record some new stuff, like we've been threatening to do for over a decade now.
Who You Gonna Call?
Current mood: adored
Category: Music
I love me some Internets. Yesterday, I sent my buddy Mike this clip of a classic Bob & Doug skit from SCTV:
... and he replied with THIS clip, which finally manages to shave a sliver of awesomeness from the normally ass-tastic Journey:
Back to Bob & Doug ... those guys played a ridiculously influential role in our lives. I think Mike and I spent and entire year of high school calling everyone we knew a "hoser" and finishing sentences with "eh." This sparticular skit features a discussion of the "space arm" that the Canadians built for the space shuttle, a quote from which we cribbed for use in our garage band's classic "Canadian Song," (itself a tribute to Bob & Doug). Mike's supposedly working on a MySpace page for The Fletchers ... when he gets it live, I'll edit this with a link over so you can marvel at our music abilities. In the mean time, immerse yourself in the splendor of Bob & Doug with this extensive MetaFilter breakdown of their career highlights.
Currently
listening
:
The Idiot
By
Iggy Pop
Release date: 29 June, 1992
A shout-out is due to the Coachella Festival community managers working for Goldenvoice. They put together a fantastic, comprehensive page listing all of the acts playing this year's festival, along with links to the artists' MySpace pages and, crucially, videos on YouTube.
So, of course, trolling that page sucked up a good 2 hours of my life late LATE Friday night ... and led to an awesome discovery: the band Battles, which I'd heard praised in late 2007 (Pitchfork gave the band's debut full-length a 9.1 / 10), but did not pay much attention to - primarily because Mirrored is shamefully unavailable for streaming on Rhapsody. My loss. These guys kick five flavors of post-rock ass. Mirrored should have made my 2007 Top 10 ... so, accept this as a late substitution (maybe swapping out Robert Plant & Alison Krauss).
Had I realized that John Stanier, original (and easily my favorite) drummer from Helmet and Tomahawk was pounding the skins for them, I might have paid closer attention sooner. Watch his snare hits in the videos below (and check out the crazy placement of his ride cymbal) -- he may the most mechanically brutal drummer in rock.
So, I write to you today to shill for Battles. I advise checking out the videos for two of their singles, "Tonto" and "ATLAS," to get the full effect. And be warned that the vocals are a bit challenging to digest the first few times through. Tyondai Braxton processes everything pretty heavily, to the point where it sounds like the band is being led by a batallion of goose-stepping chipmunks. But they grow on you. I mean, who (besides David Cross haters) doesn't love chipmunks?
So, About The Pants
Current mood: adventurous
Category: Games
Yes, yes. I totally understand that I updated my profile pic a while back to this wacky thing:
... and I never quite explained what the fuck I was doing / thinking / smoking.
So here's the score: About a month ago, my company threw its annual holiday bash. We have a proud tradition to uphold at these parties -- one that usually involves us being blacklisted by whatever venue is unlucky enough to host us, said venue calling the cops on us, or both. It's the one time of the year when we dress up real nice and get real drunk. The beverage of choice is usually Jaegermeister, often chasing the most expensive scotch we can shmooze out of the open bar. It's a lot like this:
... but with a bunch of video game nerds.
Anyhow, this year we actually had the good (mis)fortune of actually being welcomed BACK to the same establishment that hosted us last year -- the glamorous Shark Club in Costa Mesa. And unlike last year, I actually got to stay for the whole thing this time (that other party? I had to split after about 2 hours to catch a red eye to NYC for a meeting with RockStar -- as my buddy Todd about our drunken plane flight there ... I will only say that Times Square has a real Omega Man vibe to it when you're wandering around it hungover on 2 hours of sleep at 6:00 a.m.).
And we really upped the ante on the festivities this year: having completely lost our minds over the new rhythm game Rock Band in late November, we decided to hold a "battle of the (fake-ass) bands." Everyone would put together 4-person enembles, pick a song, and take the song to totally rock the fuck out in front of our sloshed co-workers. 30% of our score would be actual points in the game, while 70% would be showmanship; people were thus enocuraged to participate no matter how well they could actually play an (utterly fake) instrument.
I was flattered (really) to be drafted into a band of experts: Crystal, ace vocalist; Fargo, matser of beating the skins (and also the drums); and Heather, a real-six-string samurai (except instead of 6 strings, her guitar had 5 buttons, but whatever). They flattered my vanity by calling the band "In Like Flinn," so I knew I really had to step it up. And my opportunity to do so came when my bandmates announced our song selection: "Dani California" by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I'd be playing the role of Flea.
"Chili Peppers?" I thought. "And I'm Flea? Well of course I have to wear the stuffed animal pants from the 'Higher Ground' video."
You have to understand why this thought instinctively entered my whiskey-sodden brain: I was maybe 14 when I first saw that video. The Peppers were a fiercely proud Southern Californian band, playing a hybrid of punk and funk before "alternative" music had really broken through to the mainstream yet. To a sheltered kid wasting away in the Inland Empire suburbs, this was the shit -- part of a counter-cultural barrage that included early Jane's Addiction, Fishbone, mid-period Boingo and a smattering of whatever other LA underground bands were sneaking onto KROQ (yes, once a halfway decent radio station) in the 80s ... X, Dramarama, Social D and so on. My pals Jake and Mike went in with me 3 ways to buy the Mother's Milk cassette the day it came out. That moment carved a wrinkle on my brain. This was sort of a dream come true.
And my fiancee, bless her soul, won a second eternity of my undying love by not even blinking an eye when I brought this idea home to her. "Yeah, I can totally make some stuffed animal pants for you," she said. Her recollection on the party, with more pictures, is here, as is her take on the making of the pants.
So, what you see in that ridiculous picture of me is the final product: a yello wafro wig, a yellow feather boa (part of the band's motiff) and pair of 20-lb pants covered in stuffed animals. Flea, eat yer heart out.
Here's a shot of the full band:
Heather, Spiff, Fargo and Crystal. You can see / read more about the party on Todd's blog and in Crystal's "Hardcore Rockin'" photo album. We're supposed to be getting professionally filmed video of the whole thing sometime soon -- if I can, I'll embed a few clips here, because we had a whole routine worked out for our performance, and for our encore. Also, Todd's band, which performed "Blitzkreig Bop" while dressed like the Ramones, must be seen by all. The crowd was literally pogoing and pumping its fists as they sang along with them.
Oh -- and the battle of the bands: we won. Sweet victory.
Currently
listening
:
Mother’s Milk
By
Red Hot Chili Peppers
Release date: 11 March, 2003
Top 10 (and then some) Albums of 2007
Current mood: groggy
Category: Music
OK, so here it is: my annual list of albums I loved, liked and barely tolerated from the past year. As usual, I've thrown in a little editorial commentary on the top 10. A note or two before we get started:
Why do I do this, even though I'm not a) a person of any import in any music scene and b) work a full-time job in the video game industry (sub-question: why don't I list my favorite games of the year instead)?
Well, Spanky, I started out as a music journalist. That's how I ended up working the video game industry, oddly enough (story for another blog entry). That followed five or so years of DJing at KDVS and, more importantly, a lifetime of passion for music that has lead to what some would rightfully call an unhealthy obsession with the medium. So, I have at least a few small print qualifications here. As for the video game thing, I work in a building half-full of real video game journos, all of whom have expressed far more eloquently than I could what games deserved top critical praise for the year.
Oh, and I really only get a chance to play a half-dozen or so games a year, which does NOT qualify to comment on the sum total of games released in that period. However, I listen to hundreds, if not thousands, of records each year (thank you Rhapsody!), so I feel like I'm on slightly more solid ground here. I'd do movies too, but the Golden Globes, Independent Spirit Awards and Oscars arguably provide a reliable canon of top films every year. With music, though ... the Grammies are a total farce, and no publication (with the possible exception of Pitchfork) carries more critical weight than any other -- so, why not enter the fray?
But the real reason is: I hope it kicks off a dialogue with all of you on YOUR faves of the year ... I'm honestly not the music snob I make myself out to be, and am always excited when someone turns me on to new music they feel passionate about (examples: Katie turned me onto the Dap Kings; my boss Jamie turned me onto Panda Bear; Todd convinced me The Shins were worth a second listen). So, if you comment below, I hope you'll at least submit an album or two that YOU loved this past year, or link over to your own top 10.
I remember some Sony games executive telling me, as we watched LCD put it down at Stubbs' in Austin during the Games Conference in 2005, that James Murphy & Co. would be "over" by the following summer.I think he was basing that assumption on the fact that "Daft Punk is Playing At My House" was something of a novelty hit, and the whole NYC dance rock scene for which LCD serves as something of a standard-bearer was bound to burn itself out (of course, THAT hasn't happened yet either). Well, the joke's on you, buddy.Just add that to the long list of things that people from Sony got wrong in the past year or two. This is one of those records that's so good, I'm actually afraid to listen to it more than a couple of times a month for fear of burning it out, despite the fact that -- at pretty much any time day or night -- I'm in the mood to listen to it, or that I keep going back and ticking more songs as "4 stars" or higher in iTunes.
Add to that the group's unbroken string of amazing live sets in '07 (Coachella?Killed it. Hollywood Bowl? Blew headliners The Arcade Fire off the stage), and the year belonged to this band.Also, high marks for proving that a band need not hide behind the pretense of "innovation" to make great music -- they can do just find messing around it the well-trod intersection of post punk, house music and art rock. Oh yeah -- LCD Soundsystem also released the essential "45:33" this year as well (originally commissioned for Nike + & iTunes, then released as a stand-alone CD with extra tracks). It's almost unfair how good these guys are.
I'll confess ... like a lot of people, I really didn't "get" The Arcade Fire or its rabid fanbase until seeing a live clip of "Rebellion (Lies)" from the band's side stage appearance at Coachella 2005.
Starting to catch on, I gave Neon Bible a shot the week it hit shelves, and was immediately hooked."Keep The car Running," "Ocean of Noise" "No Cars Go" and "(Antichrist Television Blues)" are instant classics, firmly establishing the band in the same tradition of progressively political, North American heartland storytellers as Bruce Springsteen, Bob Dylan and Patti Smith. But it was the sneaker tracks that really pushed this album up the ranks -- "My Body Is A Cage" (which didn't sound quite right until you saw the fan-made video that set the music to scenes from Once Upon A Time in the West), "Neon Bible" and, especially, "Intervention" (which someone should make a point of blaring at every Mike Huckabee or Mitt Romney campaign stop during the '08 primary season).
And, like LCD, here was a band for whom great records would not suffice; they also upped the ante on their already storied live shows, turning each concert into a parody of bible belt revival meetings and fascist rallies.It wasn't always clear if the audience -- or even the band -- were consciously blurring the line between the subject and the statement (does it really make a difference if your fans are shaking their fists and chanting the lyrics to your songs in an un-ironic expression of their devotion to your band, your music and your ideology?) ... but even so, that a band could turn a concert into both an intellectual and an emotional event worth this sort of reflection is staggeringly impressive.It also helped that Springsteen chose to pass the torch to the band as well, welcoming its leaders on stage during an E-Street Band show to sing "Keep The Car Running."
Like LCD Soundsystem (NYC) and The Arcade Fire (Montreal), Spoon gestated in a city (Austin) with a disproportionately talented, vibrant and eclectic music scene. It's nice to see some parity in that sort of thing these days ... we don't have a Seattle just totally dominating the conversation, but rather, a lot of cities creating a real discourse.That said, I can't think of anything particularly "Texan" about Spoon ... I mean, these guys make hyper stylish skinny tie guitar rock equally influenced by Billy Joel and Gang of Four. But this, (along with ace songwriting) may be why the band's songs have wormed their way into a pervasive position on the pop culture front -- there's something appealing about Spoon that's totally UN-regional. More people have randomly quoted lines from "The Underdog" to me this year than I ever would have expected (granted, my expectation for this was "zero").Chalk it up to frontman Britt Daniels's work on the "Stranger Than Fiction" soundtrack + score, or savvy licensing of key Spoon tracks to commercials, but Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga's release seems to have coincided with Spoon's subtle emergence as the new American alternative everyband.
The record even hit the Billboard top 10.Spoon!In the top 10!In the same country that can't get its freaking eyes off of "Brit Watch!" Some would say this is a testament to just how far aggregate album sales have fallen in the past year, allowing even modest sellers like this to score a high chart position.I prefer to think it's because, once in a while. truly great songs like "Cherry Bomb" and "Finer Feelings" get the widespread recognition they deserve.
More people made note of this album's revolutionary distribution scheme than the actual music, which is a shame -- because it may be Radiohead's best album to date (if not, oddly, its defining artistic statement -- those honors will always belong to OK Computer). OK, so you could pay any price you wanted, down to $0.99, to obtain the album via download in mid-quality MP3 format.And it was released without the assistance of a major record label OR a multi-million dollar marketing campaign.And apparently MILLIONS of copies were downloaded, most in exchange for a reasonable sum of money (about $6 US).
As countless wags (and Radiohead itself) have already noted, this isn't going to work for every band and it may not end up being where the music industry finally flips its flagging fortunes.But all of that is part of an evolving academic discussion that neither began nor ended with In Rainbows.
So let's talk about the music: this is the first Radiohead record that was both a) really good, musically and lyrically and stylistically, and; b) didn't also make me want to curl up in a ball under my bed and self-medicate while waiting for global takeover by the emerging robotic corporate police state.Holy crap, can Thom Yorke ever be depressing -- and his cohorts don't help matters by usually matching his paranoid ramblings with glitch rock designed to make your stomach ache with dread.For once, the band found a way to make a record that's more heart than head and which doesn't also totally suck (I'm looking at YOU, Pablo Honey). It does the opposite of suck, in fact. It rocks.From the skittery opening pulse of "15 Step" to the tenderly falsettoed "House of Cards," In Rainbowspresents an accessible -- if still challenging -- body of Radiohead music that excites and motivates you instead of perching you on the cliff's edge of terminal despair.I don't know what they're putting in Thom's tea these, days, but I hope someone keeps filling the prescription.
Brian Wilson, reborn. A neat trick, given that Brian Wilson is still alive.Cloned perhaps?One listen to this languid pastiche of Pet Sounds-esque layered vocal harmonies, ambient sound effects and Phil Spector girl band rhythm loops, and you'll find yourself entertaining all sorts of kooky sci-fi notions.Two 12-minute + song suites complete the duplication process.
Better with drugs?I can't testify to that (fuck, I'm old!), but there's a song called "Take Pills" here that's pretty much the album's user manual. Also, Person Pitch is miles better than the hideously over-praised Strawberry Jam, this year's offering from Panda's core group Animal Collective.
Anyhow, I look forward to revisiting this album next Summer, when the warm weather compliments the sun-kissed melodies and bright vocals better than the Winter-shortened days and blustery winds of December- February.
Whoulda thunk it?Honestly, I thought Robert Plant had lost it years ago. I mean YEARS ago. I have never liked any of his solo work, and even some of the Zeppelin catalogue (especially the later, desperate albums) are highly suspect.I figured we'd be suffering through more milquetoast Jimmy Page retreads and wacky solo outings until the guy shat himself and keeled over in the dino-rockers rest home. So, color me happily chagrined that a) Zep managed to actually reconvene in better-than-fine form this Winter or that b) Plant would surprise me with a non-Zep collaboration that's better than just good -- it's great.Oh, sure -- producer T-Bone Burnett deserves monstrous credit here for dreaming up the pairing and architecting the record. Alison Krauss also more than holds up her end of the deal, tempering her bluegrass/ Carter family revivalisms into a sharp tool capable of sculpting real life into remakes of unsung blues, rock and singer-songwriter tracks.But Plant is the surprise star here, ratcheting back his caterwauling and crafting harmonies that actually redefine what we expect from the man.Vocal techniques aside, it's a great album -- solid songs, wonderfully performed, rich in tradition but presented without the air of exhumation that normally attends projects like this.
Probably the most experimental record to ever hit 2 on the Billboard charts. Of course, a lot of credit for that belongs to the movie "Garden State," which turned a Shins song into a viral meme for just about every thinking late 20s / early 30s adult in the Western world and built anticipation for their follow-up record into the, "Gotta buy it to look cool" event of early 2007. But still -- a band doesn't stand alone on a plug like that.Wincing actually backs up the band's rep with a full album of well-crafted songs, "run down the street cheering" guitar choruses and deep dives into novel vocal lines and song structures.No, it doesn't rock quite as hard as some long time fans would prefer; but if you came looking for a quieter, gentler Shins, you'll find them (and a whole lot more) here.
Forget Amy Winehouse. While Back To Black was, indeed, a great record, the REAL soul revival took place on Sharon Jones latest -- maybe the most overlooked album of the year.The Dap Kings, who provided the same Motown & Stax homage horn lines and rhythms on Winehouse's record, ignite the engine here as well, but do so with a gutsier, more skilled driver in Jones.Playing Aretha to Winehouse's Whitney, Jones delivers some semblance of real meaning and authority behind songs like "Something's Changed."This is not a woman on the brink of a public meltdown, singing to keep herself sane (or to excuse her bad behavior); this is a woman who has seen, done and come back to tell.Far less likely to be overplayed, far more likely to keep her shit together, and overall more skillfully performed and produced (or rather, not OVER-produced), 100 Days and Jones deserve a heaping helping of attention in 2008.
If Wilco is gradually morphing into the new Eagles, and My Morning Jacket into the new Wilco, Band of Horses seems willing to become the new My Morning Jacket. Kicking out driving guitar lines, soaring choruses and pure maple syrup sweet vocals, the only thing BOH is missing is the southern fried guitar jams. They've even got the trucker caps and hobo beards in place. Thankfully, a short stint in Seattle (before returning to their native South Carolina) infected these guys with some sense of songwriting economy and structural formalism, so the likelihood of their turning into another barefoot jam band is delicate but delightfully slim.
Yeah, we're all a little sick of the infectious "Young Folks" by now, thanks to its co-option by ad agencies and sitcom producers aching for a way to hook their products into pseudo hipsters with the sound of "cool."But let's face it: the first time you heard "Young folks," you wanted to know how and where you could get that record right that second.Hell, it got me doubly good -- it was the first thing I heard on arriving in London after walking into a Piccadilly record store.
The nice thing is that these guys backed that one track up with about 10 more that are half as catchy and twice as good."Up Against The Wall" is the heartbreak anthem of the year, and "Chills" is where the real hipsters found perch."Amsterdam" doubtless became the winking soundtrack to more than a few summer vacations for coming-of-age eurokids.
Really, this is just more proof that the Swedes are breeding a super race of superior pop bands.I suspect they've got half of Abba locked in a secret laboratory somewhere in Gothenburg, and are cranking out blonde-haired, blue-eyed mutants by the guitar-strumming thousands. If Jens Lekman comes balladeering to your town, approach with caution.
Honorable Mentions: Richard Hawley - Lady's Bridge The White Stripes - Icky Thump Amon Tobin - Foley Room The Twilight Sad - Fourteen Autumns, Fifteen Winters Thurston Moore - Trees Outside The Academy Dinosaur Jr. - Beyond The Good, The Bad & The Queen Andrew Bird - Armchair Apocrypha Jesca Hoop - Kismet Caribou - Andorra Black Lips - Good Bad Not Evil Feist - The Reminder
Most Overrated: Animal Collective - Strawberry Jam MIA - Kala Liars - Liars
Biggest Disappointments: PJ Harvey - White Chalk Interpol - Our Love To Admire Bloc Party - A Weekend In The City
Postcard from Ireland - Part I
Current mood: awake
Category: Travel and Places
Hey all --
Checking in from Dublin, where my trip to Ireland with my dad is almost at an end. Can't type much now, as we're heading out for our final day of sightseeing, but wanted to at least post some pics from the trip so far. Check the slideshow below or visit my pictures for a higher res photo album. Many more to come, along with plenty of great stories. Slainte!
Currently
listening
:
Rum Sodomy & the Lash
By
The Pogues
Release date: 19 September, 2006
The Road To Chicago: End of the Road
Current mood: relieved
Category: Sports
Well, as my buddy Colin so eloquently put it in his blog entry about the Chicago Marathon, "No, I did not die." Some other 30-something guy did, though -- but I think every single marathon has one or two folks drop dead on the course. The marathon is no joke.
What they typically don'thave is record heat and humidity, or a mid-race shutdown that prevents 10,000+ runners from finishing the course, or aid stations that run out of water ... Chicago had all of that.
You can refer to a couple of spot-on news stories on CNN.com and the New York Times online to get an overhead view of the event. The NYT has my favorite headline by far: "Death, Havoc and Heat Mar Chicago Race." Makes it sound like a real bloodbath, and I look like a champ for finishing.
Anyway, here's how the day unfolded:
5:15 a.m.: I'm up! Get showered, eat an English muffin with peanut butter, some non-fat yogurt and a banana for breakfast, washed down with 2 cups of coffee and my usual multi-vitamin / glucosamine dose. Legs are feeling GREAT for the first time all week.
6:15 a.m.: We leave for the El station, catching the red line to the Adams station in The Loop, from which we head to the finish line.
7:30 a.m.: I say my good-byes to Katie, Mike and Joni (all of whom are saints for getting up so damned early to come with me). I realize with a small amount of dread that I have left the sunscreen back at home base, but figure I have bigger things to worry about. I proceed to the bag check area to drop off my stuff, jog a bit to warm up, then vault over the fence into the open seeding start corral near the 3.5 hour pace group. Sadly, I cannot find Colin, despite his wearing a grass skirt as a visual aid. Semi-nervous conversation with surrounding marathoners from all over the world ensues.
8:00 a..m.: The start gun fires, the Black-Eyed Peas' "Let's Get It Started" starts blaring (much to my chagrin), and the elite runners bolt across the starting line. The winning runner will finish 2:11 later ... 2nd place will be five hundredths of a second behind him -- they'll ultimately need to go to photos to determine which guy broke tape first.
8:06 a.m.: I actually cross the start line, behind several thousand other runners. This is normal, and actually sooner than I expected.
I'll shift to mileage breakdowns now, becuasue I lost all track of clock time after this point.
Miles 1 - 6: Feeling surprisingly fantastic. I actually can't feel my legs at all ... the adrenaline and endorphins from the start line excitement have completely numbed me. The course is so crowded at this point that passing slower runners is nearly impossible, so I float along and try my best to stay with the 3.5 and 3.75 / hour pace groups. The crowds are phenomenal through this stretch ... both sides of the street packed and screaming. When you hear veteran runners tell you that "the crowd will pull you through the beginning of the race," this is what they mean.
I also realize, stunned, that I have not hydrated at allthis morning save for two cups of highly diaretic coffee slurped down at 5:45 or so ... I hit an aid station and tank up on both Gatorade and water. I grab my first Cliff Shot from my AmphiPod and power it down with some water to keep me energized through the first stretch. I plan to hit another one after the half mark, and again around mile 17 or 18.
Mile 6: I stop for the bathroom break I needed before I even hit the starting line. The porta-john is approximately 243 degrees inside.
Mile 7: Boystown, site of the all-male drag cheerleading team cheering us on. Awesome. Catch my first glimpse of Katie, Mike, Joni, Erika, Pepe and the Groble clan on the sidelines. Mike jumps into the race with me and jogs for a bit as we chat. I'm pulling a steady 8:30 / mile pace and feeling good. Note to Mike that the heat will be the big factor in the race for me.
Miles 8 - 12: Still feeling pretty good, but can tell that the heat and humidity are creeping up. Shade and the occasional breeze make it bearable though. Pace stays strong.
Mile 13: The half-marathon mark. I pull a 1:51:20 split, right on target for a 3-hour 45-minute marathon. Legs feel strong, and my time gives me a burst of confidence.
Mile 14 - 15: The confidence was short-lived. I feel stupid for even having attempted this as a short spell of dizziness hits me, and I feel like my blood sugar has just dropped significantly. The heat is definitely affecting me at this point. I grab two glasses of Gatorade this time, and pop some Quench gum that Joni had given me so I can quickly absorb some glucose and get the bloodsugar back up. It helps -- a few minutes later, I perk up and run strong for a couple more miles.
Miles 16 - 19: Gradually start dropping my pace; feeling the heat intensely when not in the shade, and so commit to hitting EVERY aid station for Gatorade (to hydrate) and sparse sips of water (you can easily slip into hyponatremia in events like this, pouring too much water but not enough minerals and electrolytes into your body). I generally just pour the water over my head, taking care to only grab one glass of each fluid at the aid stations (no need to be greedy -- there are tens of thousands of people behind me, some is really dire straits). I begin walking completely through the aid stations to help my body cool down a bit.
Begin to notice that Mexico is representing mighty at this race ... many runners are clearly identifying themselves as having either made the trip up, or else as hailing from one of Chicago's heavily hispanic neighborhoods. The neighborhoods respond, waving flags and cheering fanatically at every mile. I might as well be in LA.
I set a mental goal of crossing that 17-mile marker, after which I only have single-digits worth of miles to cover until the end. I alternate between cursing myself for trying this run and thinking, "I've got this. Going to KILL IT."
Miles 19 - 20: Moving slow, walking longer stretches, holding out for crossing that 20-mile mark when I know I'll just have a 10-K to run before I'm done. I can do a 10-K, I tell myself. That's just a training run.
Mile 21: I squeeze in a bit of walking knowing that the Grobles and my cheering section will be up ahead at mile 22, right through Chinatown. I want to look strong as I run past, despite being well behind the 3:50 pace group that I told Mike I'd be sticking to. I wonder if this will make anyone worry.
Mile 22: Mike jumps in and runs with me for another half-mile or so. He repeats my mental mantra, saying, "Pretend you just finished running a really crappy warm-up for a 10-K!" and points out where Katie & everyone are cheering. Seeing them root for me actually DOES give me a big boost, and I'm solid until I hit the next aid station. Before he take off again, I let Mike know that I'm just trying to finish at this point, and that the next few miles will be slow.
Miles 23 - 25: Bronzeville. Hell on earth. There is no shade here. God hates me.
This section of the race runs parrallel to the highway, on a frontage road through reclaimed industrial buildings. It's just blacktop, weeds and sun. So ... much ... sun.
I walk up the slight inclines of the bridges, then run down them and let the momentum carry me for a bit. I am dousing my head with water at every chance. Notice that a few hyrdants have been opened, but avoid them in fear of waterlogging my shoes and socks. Now the cramps set in - first in my right hamstring, then jumping over to my left. I know I will finish, but there's no way I will break 4 hours. The heat is just overpowering here. Everyone around me gives signs of just valiantly pushing ahead -- no one is "running" -- we're all jogging, trudging, making due.
The crowds start to pick up again here, and the cheering boosts everyone's spirits. The closer we get to the finish, the louder they get.
Mike re-appears about half-way through mile 24, as I'm walking, and starts pep-talking me. We get through an aid station, I douse my head one last time, and we deal with a gaggle of cheerleaders who have just found one of their running friends. They start gossipping and chattering as if there ISN'T a race going on. More cheerleaders are staffing the upcoming aid station, and they go completely teenage apeshit when they see their friend stroll up. That's pretty good motivation to start running again.
Mile 25: I turn to Mike and say, "Hokay ... let's finish the motherfucker." I start jogging again, Mike pacing me and describing what the last leg will look like. He warns me about the last hill, a gradual rise over the highway that mercifully drops down into the final turn of the race, the "chute." I'm pretty sure Mike just being here is what's going to push me over the finish line running.
Just as we turn to head up the hill, the cops start bellowing through bullhorns, "The race is over. Please stop running and walk." I assume this is a very bad joke, as does Mike. Not sure how the crowd feels, other than unhappy -- there is loud booing at the police. Every runner continues running.
Mike fades into the crowd as I turn into the chute and see the finish line. The crowd is in bleachers here, but not cheering much. Who can blame them? We're not impossibly fast Kenyans, and it's really frigging hot out. I make a few paltry gestures to try and get some noise going for everyone crossing the line, but no one really responds. That's OK -- I've been telling myself for months that it can be a lonely sport.
Mile 26.2: I cross the finish line, and honestly, I'm a blank. There's none of the emotional surge that I felt after finishing LA 2006. I check the iPod, and see that I've come in at 4:06 and change -- 5 minutes WORSE than LA -- but I honestly do not care. I guess what I'm feeling is just simple relief -- I'm done ... it's over. I can walk and not feel bad. Someone please pour more water over my head.
I grab a foil blanket, claim my finisher's medal, then snag a water bottle and a banana. Hit the bag check station to reclaim my stuff, then trudge off toward the Abraham Lincoln statue in Grant Park, where I reunite with a beaming Katie and family. I stand to have a few post-run pics snapped, then sit my weary ass down on a step with Katie for a rest.
It's much later that the real war stories start coming in ... friends of Mike's and Joni's who have finished an hour off pace. The cops and race organizers REALLY shutting the race down -- not joking -- and forcing people to re-route through Grant Park. Aid stations running out of water and shutting down as thirsty runners trudge past in need of relief. People outright collapsing after the halfway mark. My 4:06 starts to sound MUCH better to my own ears, and I just feel thankful to have finished the race at all.
All-in-all, not quite the jubilant, triumphant event that LA 2006 was -- this was just out-and-out survival. Some runs are like that. If nothing else, it was a great excuse to fly to Chicago for an AWESOME weekend with our friends and family.
I have to express massive thanks to Katie and Mike for exerting heroic organizational efforts, getting the cheering section together and out on the streets to cheer me on, and to Joni for being relentlessly supportive of me every single minute (also for the gum, which may have saved my marathon). Mike & Joni also played host to me and Katie, and made me glad that we stay in a hotel. Also, HUGE thanks to Katie's parents for driving up from Cleveland to root for me, and to the rest of Katie's family (Sarah in particular) for a great pre-marathon lunch on Saturday. Also, props to Erika and Pepe, who barely know me, for treating me like an old friend and coming out repeatedly to hang with us. All of this is why I run.
I'll try and post some pictures in a follow up post. Now ... off to pack for my trip to Ireland!
The Road To Chicago: Departure Lounge
Current mood: excited
Category: Sports
Well kids, this is it! The bags are packed, my last training run (a relatively pain-free 5.8 miles) has been logged, and our flight leaves for Chicago tomorrow at 6:45 a.m. The race starts at 8:00 a.m. Central time on Sunday morning. If you're feeling that special Sean groupie vibe, you can sign up for "Runner Tracking" e-mail or text alerts that will inform you, milestone by milestone, exactly how much more slowly I run than a pack of well-trained Kenyans.
Looking back, I made my first "Road to Chicago" entry on February 9 ... that's 8 months ago. Funny. The other day, my boss commented that some friend of his had told him it takes about 8 months to train for a marathon. I scoffed. But there you go -- February 9 to October 7 is indeed 8 months.
Granted, I spent at least 2 of those months chasing a PR in the 5K, and another month doing doodley squat while I recovered from an injury. So, let's say "5 months, if you're already in shape to run 3 miles comfortably, and you don't get hit by a car."
The great thing about the weekend is that it won't all be about the marathon. While the weekend Jeremy and I spent preparing for LA 2006 was awesome (it's really hard to top the legendary lasagne we ate in Los Feliz, followed by a viewing of R. Kelley's Trapped in the Closet in its uncensored entirety), Mike, Joni and Katie have done a greta job of planning a pretty effing sweet 3 days in Chicago. Things I am looking forward to, other than brutalizing my legs between 8 a.m. and 12 p.m. on Sunday (ranked in no praticular order):
1) Seeing Mike & Joni and their new condo 2) Hanging out with Katie's family ... which is pretty much my family now too, I suppose :) 3) Hang time with Katie's Chicago friends Erika and Pepe, who are super cool 4) Pasta Saturday night -- guilt free carb loading! 5) Possibly catching the Electric Six at the Double Door on Friday night 6) Watching the Cubs annihilate the Diamondbacks while scarfing down biscuits & gravy and Jamesons at the Two Moons after the marathon
I will try and blog as I go the next few days ... until then, wish me luck! Also, send some good vibes to my virtual training partner Colin, who will be running the event in a grass skirt. I'm pretty sure he's NOT kidding about that, for which he gets much respect.
Currently
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Without Limits Release date: 16 February, 1999
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